Sweetest Thing

by Natasha West

  Robyn took a step back, and Jodie did the same. They gave each other a complicated look. Robyn said, ‘That’s… No.’ She turned and fled the room.

  Fourteen

  Jodie stood stock still as she watched her door slam shut. Robyn had gone. Jodie didn’t think she’d ever been so flabbergasted in her entire life. What in the mother of fuck had just happened?

  Jodie didn’t do this. She didn’t get into all of that type of business. Hate-fucking, she believed the term was. It was the only way to describe what had just occurred between herself and Robyn. Though they hadn’t gotten quite that far. Just a kiss. But the word ‘Just’ wasn’t exactly suitable for the mad snog that had occurred.

  Jodie began to pace the floor. She hadn’t wanted this. Had she? No. Definitely not. Not Robyn, good god. That tightly wound people pleaser? Jodie could never be attracted to someone like that.

  Jodie truly wanted to believe that. But there was one piece of strong evidence that refused to conform to that hypothesis, and it was contained in her knickers.

  Jodie was outrageously turned on.

  ***

  Jodie stood in the warm studio, trying her best to look like she was a woman thinking very hard about the topic of bread. What she was actually doing was trying desperately not to look at her competitor. Or think about her. Or acknowledge her existence.

  She could feel Robyn doing exactly the same. Hard to say how she could tell that someone she wasn’t looking at was not looking at her for the same reasons. But she did.

  Robyn had no right to be that way. She’d started this whole thing. Jodie had to admit to herself that she had kissed Robyn too, but she didn’t think she’d have done that if Robyn hadn’t kissed her first. Or knocked on her door. Or generally gotten under her skin. It was all her fault. All Jodie wanted to do was make a loaf of bread today. She certainly did not want to think about what it would be like to get Robyn over her knee, pull down her tailored trousers, and then deliver a series of sharp slaps to her tight little bottom, making her scream out in pain or delight. Jodie wasn’t particular which.

  OK. Not brilliant that her mind had gone there.

  ‘Right, today we’d like you to make for us a delicious…’ Madeline took an outrageous pause. ‘…Soda bread!’

  Everyone went, ‘Ooh.’ Except for Jodie and Robyn.

  The table was then unveiled with a selection of ingredients from the pedestrian to the absurd. One of the ingredients was Irish whiskey. So Jen was sorted. But what would Jodie stick in her soda bread? Well, she could see cheddar and brown onions. So that was that. She wasn’t going fancy, she didn’t care if people thought she was basic. She’d just have to make sure the loaf was bang on. She couldn’t leave any room whatsoever for Adam to criticise. He was gunning for her already, she could tell.

  Jodie grabbed her ingredients and went to the cutting board, chopping the onion finely, grating the cheese carefully, trying to size the chunks evenly. It felt for a moment like she was gonna be alright. She’d exorcize this mad impulse out of her body through the rising of some dough. She’d make a fucking good bit of bread, and then somehow, all this would go away.

  Madeline came over as she was kneading her dough. ‘What do we have here?’

  ‘Bread, Madeline. Because it’s bread week,’ she said snarkily.

  Madeline gave a light chuckle, trying to ignore the tone. ‘Yes, I know. But can you tell us a bit more about it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  As Jodie turned back to her dough, she realised Madeline was still standing over her shoulder. Usually, she asked her question, Jodie gave a minimal answer, and that was that. But Madeline stepped closer and said, ‘I think I need a word.’

  Jodie frowned. ‘Can it wait?’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Madeline said with a shark’s smile.

  ***

  Jodie wasn’t sure what Madeline wanted. But as she was led to the Baker’s Confessional, she had a brief, mad thought about whether Madeline had gotten wind of what had gone down with Robyn. Maybe Robyn had confessed to her?

  But it was nothing to do with that. ‘Look, Jodie… You know this show’s not just about baking, don’t you?’ Madeline asked.

  Jodie gave Madeline a long look. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s not about knitting.’

  Madeline ignored her. ‘We need contestants to show their character. You’re refusing to do that. It’s a problem.’

  Jodie crossed her arms. ‘So what do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to change your personality. Just talk more. That’s all. Mix with the other contestants.’

  ‘Or?’ Jodie asked evenly.

  Madeline gave a light laugh. ‘It’s not a threat. It’s a friendly request.’

  Jodie narrowed her eyes. ‘But I’ll get booted if I don’t comply, right?’

  Madeline’s smile grew wider. ‘Jodie, I never said that.’

  ‘Didn’t have to,’ Jodie told her. ‘It’s cool. I got it. Now, can I go back to my bread? I’ve already lost three minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to put it on the end of your time. You won’t miss out.’

  ‘Very kind. So can I go?’

  Madeline sighed. ‘I’m trying to help you; don’t you see that?’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Because you’re a good baker, better than most of them. But there’s one thing you don’t understand about this process.’

  ‘Do enlighten me,’ Jodie said dryly.

  ‘People don’t watch this show to watch you bake perfectly. They want to see you putting yourself into everything you make. They want to see blood, sweat, and tears go into your food.’

  Jodie grimaced. ‘What a truly disgusting metaphor.’

  Madeline shook her head. ‘Alright then, Jodie. If you don’t want to listen, you don’t want to listen.’

  Jodie arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m listening, Madeline. What I’m hearing is that I’m putting on a bad show, making your programme less entertaining because I’m not weeping over an uneven bake or doing cartwheels over a good rise,’ Jodie theorised.

  Madeline gave a short laugh. ‘That’s absolutely correct, I don’t deny that. But the thing of it is, it goes both ways. A lot of our bakers go on to create their own businesses from this. Some of them even get TV work. Leena from year seven has her own baking show, in its second series, I’m sure you’ve seen it. You have any ambitions to bake professionally?’

  Jodie didn’t answer.

  ‘I thought so,’ Madeline said. ‘But I’ll tell you this, that kind of thing happens for the contestants the viewers warm to.’

  Jodie didn’t say anything. She didn’t want this conversation to keep going. If she shut her mouth, there was only so long Madeline could bang on at her.

  ‘OK, look, I’ve said my piece,’ Madeline said. ‘It’s up to you if you listen.’

  ‘I told you, Madeline. I hear everything,’ Jodie said. ‘I just don’t tend to follow other people’s rules.’

  ‘Sure, Jodie, you’re a cool rebel, we’ve all got the memo,’ Madeline snarked. ‘Back to your bread, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Jodie walked out of the confessional. She went back to her dough and began to knead again, very hard indeed. She was sick of just about everyone now. She wanted to walk off the set. But that would give Madeline a reaction, and Jodie would sooner die. What Madeline really wanted was for Jodie to take a note from those dumbass words people fixed on their walls. Living, laughing, loving. What a mistake it all was. People wanted to make out like putting yourself out there was worth the risk. Bullshit. Jodie was here and good enough at baking, and that should have been the end of it. But they wanted her to be someone else.

  She felt something catch at the corner of her vision, and she turned to see Robyn giving her a quizzical look. She’d obviously seen Jodie taken off to have her wrist slapped.

  ‘What?’ Jodie asked coldly.

  ‘Nothing,’ Robyn frowned.

  �
�Good. Go back to your baking then,’ Jodie muttered.

  She saw Madeline watching her, shaking her head, another warning. Jodie tensed. It was week three. She couldn’t go out in week three, or all of this was for nothing. The design was week five or better. She was fucking up her own plan because she couldn’t play nice. It made her want to scream.

  ***

  Jodie watched each judgement carefully.

  Jen was told her whiskey soda bread was over flavoured. Which was code for, ‘You put too much alcohol in this, you lush. Stop trying to get the room drunk.’ Susan got a solid C of judgement for her carraway seed and currant soda loaf. Dorothy made them fairly happy with her rosemary garlic soda bread. Sanjay got shaky feedback for his cranberry and orange version. Robyn got some decent yummy noises with her cheddar, apple, and walnut soda bread. Jodie begrudgingly thought it sounded nice. Maybe better than hers.

  By Jodie’s assessment, that meant that if she did OK on this, she’d stay in. Bottom two were definitely Jen and Sanjay.

  ‘Tasty,’ Adam said.

  ‘Very,’ Imogen agreed.

  ‘But to be honest, it’s a bit unimaginative,’ Adam continued.

  There was that word again. Was she about to be kicked out? Because she was now in the bottom three.

  Shit. Maybe.

  Jodie glanced at Robyn. She was biting her lip nervously. Jodie had the annoying thought that she’d kind of like to bite that lip too. Get ahold of yourself! She admonished herself. But it was no good. There was just something about Robyn that rocked her boat in some twisted way.

  There was one upside to getting the boot. If she went, she wouldn’t do anything about the Robyn situation.

  But if she stayed, if Robyn did too... Jodie had this unswerving instinct that sooner or later, it would happen. She could feel it in her bones. She was appalled. It was as though her common sense had put the out-of-office on. Her body was running the show. And her body was a total idiot. An idiot that wanted Robyn.

  Jodie couldn’t shake it, this prognostication. She and Robyn were going to have sex.

  Fifteen

  Robyn was sure she was bottom three with Jen and Sanjay. She’d done alright today, but yesterday had been catastrophic. So had she evened out her chances? Hard to say. Dorothy was at the top, Susan second, Jodie in the middle.

  She held her breath as the name was called.

  ‘Jen.’

  Robyn breathed a sigh of relief as Jen laughed, ‘I knew it was going to be me.’ Everyone gathered around Jen for the obligatory commiserations, and Robyn joined them. ‘Bad luck,’ she said.

  Jen shrugged. ‘It’s alright. I’ll be glad to have my weekends back, to be honest.’ Robyn didn’t think that was strictly true, but if it made Jen feel less embarrassed to pretend she didn’t care, Robyn could understand that.

  Robyn turned away from Jen to congratulate Dorothy on top baker status and found herself face to face with Jodie. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. She did her best to get her surprise under control. The woman had been right next to her all day, after all. What was there to be surprised about?

  ‘Hi,’ Jodie said quietly.

  ‘Close call for me this week,’ Robyn burbled.

  ‘I didn’t nail it this week either,’ Jodie admitted. ‘But we’re both back next week.’

  Robyn thought there was something in her eyes when she said that. But she didn’t understand what it was. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘I’d better raise my game then,’ Jodie said with the ghost of a smile. She walked away.

  Robyn was left blushing and confused. It wasn’t what Jodie had said, it was the way she’d said it. Unless Robyn was very much mistaken, Miss Ice Tits had given her sentence just a shadow of flirtation. Why would she do that? What did she want? Did she want more of what had happened last night? Well, Robyn didn’t. Not really. Hardly at all. She wasn’t flush at the thought of Jodie’s body against her own for those few angry, exciting seconds. The very idea.

  Because you couldn’t have sex with people you couldn’t stand; it was madness. They were in deep and mutual dislike with one another. Whatever happened, Robyn would stand firm. She wasn’t an animal. She could stop herself from doing this.

  Couldn’t she?

  ***

  Robyn made sure to leave the studio long after Jodie had. She didn’t care if she hit the nasty traffic of people commuting home for the weekend from the city. She couldn’t risk getting on a train with Jodie. This was the only way to deal with the situation. Avoid, evade, elude. It was Robyn’s go-to, and it worked when she wanted to dodge awkwardness. And what was more awkward than this?

  But she knew, in the back of her mind, she wasn’t dodging Jodie. She was dodging her own desire to rip Jodie’s clothes off and have at it because she was a sensible woman. She had a job, a mortgage, prospects. You didn’t get those things, nor keep them, by acting like an animal. And that’s what it was with Jodie. Animal magnetism.

  Robyn got on a packed train later that evening and was forced to stand all the way home. She barely minded, even when she had her face in a large man’s sweaty armpit. It was a small price to pay for sanity.

  When she got home, she was glad of the silence of her flat. No Alex. No gaming. No clothes strewn about. No takeaway cartons littering the place. Peace. Robyn could have the entire week to spend practising her bakes and researching for week four. What she would not be doing was thinking about that mad kiss. Funny now that she had some distance from its location, Robyn felt safer, rational, in charge of herself once again. She wasn’t the illogical creature that had grabbed ahold of Jodie and taken something she didn’t even know she wanted until she had it. She was Robyn Vincent again.

  But some small part of her wondered what would happen when she had to stand near Jodie again. The control she felt right now, was it as strong as she hoped?

  Sixteen

  Week Four - Traybakes

  Everyone was chatty and excited at the set the following week, all jazzed up for traybakes. Outwardly, Jodie did not look to be among them. But there was an electricity in her as she stepped onto the set that week. It just wasn’t reserved for baking.

  She knew what she was doing for the Saturday signature bake. Billionaire’s brownies, the bastard child of the brownie, and the millionaire’s shortbread. It wasn’t one of her dad’s recipes. But she had to give the judges something they weren’t able to say was tasty but ‘unimaginative.’ Was it enough? She didn’t know. Jodie never felt like she understood what other people wanted.

  Robyn was at her station, and Jodie gave her a look. Nothing further, no wink, no nod, only simple eye contact. But she loved how much it scared Robyn. She could see it in her eyes. Fear. Jodie searched herself and felt a small sting of the same stuff.

  The intro fluff was said, the theme of the week announced, and the timer was set. They were off.

  Jodie started, preheating her oven and lining a tray with parchment paper before she started her mix.

  For some time, there was quiet as everyone began their prep, punctuated by the occasional inane question from Madeline. Jodie was dreading her own Q and A this week because she knew she was going to have to stop being such a snarky bitch. She was at week four, so close to her minimum requirement for starting her baking business. If she went out this week because she couldn’t just say a few chatty bits of bullshit for the cameras, then she’d have to live with shooting herself in the foot for the rest of her days. There would never be an opportunity quite like this again. So she’d made peace with it. She would bang it out to the cheap seats today.

  She glanced at Robyn and thought, And just maybe there’ll be a nice reward for me if I do. Though ‘nice’ might not be the word for it.

  ‘So tell us, what are you making today, Jodie?’ Madeline asked peppily.

  Jodie took a deep breath and turned her entire body to the woman. ‘Today, I’m making…’ and she went on to describe the traybake in as much detail as she could stomach.

  Madeline g
rinned. ‘Sounds yummy. Can’t wait to try it.’

  ‘I’ll save you a piece,’ Jodie said, sickened.

  Madeline laughed lightly and buggered off, thank god. If that had gone on any longer, Jodie felt as though she would have ripped her own teeth out and thrown them at the presenter, screaming, ‘Here, have your smiles!’

  ‘Robyn, does this look right to you?’ she heard Dorothy call. She peeked and saw Dorothy showing Robyn some crumbly mixture. Robyn looked hard and said, ‘I think so. Maybe a bit more butter?’